


The Coast Sings Ever So Sweetly

by Chief_Yazza10



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post Mpreg, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:00:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22614502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chief_Yazza10/pseuds/Chief_Yazza10
Summary: The mage spoke of a tale of that of an omega who resides at the coast, singing softly with nothing more than the house he worked hard for and a babe at his hip with blue eyes like the ocean on a summer's day but hair as white as snow in the frosty winters. The omega is loved by those in the village, tending to those who are injured, the village children adoring as they hear him sing yet they can tell the healer is hurting, some days more than others. Yennefer smiles softly, something rare.Geralt thinks its a rumor until the coast sings ever so sweetly, pulling him in.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 30
Kudos: 450





	1. She Bears News

Witchers don't feel. It was a fact that had been engraved into Geralt's mind from a young age. _Had._ It seemed like life had the taste for proving him wrong from time to time, especially craving the devine taste of pushing him to question parts of himself and dare he say, his teachings. For Ciri, he felt pride and fatherly love towards her, a need to protect her that washed over the Alpha, a need to make sure she was happy and safe from any harm and danger that could befall her. For Yennefer, the feeling of lust and fondness for the mage was evident, frustration lurking at times whenever their disagreements turned sour.

For Jaskier.  
Guilt. It consumed him most days. Simmering when the sun was at its high point, the birds flitting freely whilst Ciri admired nature's crafts from atop of Roach's back, the mare trotting along in bliss whislt gratefully accepting the youth's pats, whinnying in delight. However, when the sun rested on the horizon, the forests becoming silent, the crackle of a campfire echoing throughout, guilt surrounded him. It choked the alpha much like a poison. The memory of what had happened on the mountain those months ago plagued him, never allowing for a night's peaceful sleep, no matter how much Geralt craved. His sleep broken, much like the bard's heart he shattered with words which he snarled in a heat of the moment. Geralt sighs when his mind awakes him with the bard's broken sobbing to which the wind carries to the top of the mountain.

Geralt and Ciri stopped at an inn in a small village, away from danger and painful memories. The inn's residents watch with looks which lack trust, pointed in Geralt's direction but none dare speak up or act out any bad intention, not in front of the girl who's bundled in layers provided by the White Wolf of Rivia. Ciri has two small hands clasped around the tankard of warm liquid which thaws her from the cold, gulping down her drink. Geralt gives her a look. She smiles sheepishly and takes sips instead. Happy, they both begin to eat their meal. A small pleasure which both don't take for granted, not with both having to camp more than often as they try and avoid dangerous entities which hunt like the hounds after a fox and its family. 

Yet, their peace between both father figure and daughter does not live long as another joins them, delicate fingers holding her own drink as she elegantly sits herself down in the spare seat in the corner of the inn, away from prying eyes. Yennefer smiles, a nod in Ciri's direction. Geralt does not miss the way the alpha mage's smiles falters when she looks in his direction. It has been a while since they last saw each other, months, maybe a year almost but time is not the witcher's concern, Ciri is his priorty. The last time they saw was after the whole mountain ordeal where they argued, fell into bed with one another before argueing again once more. A repetitive cycle. Yet both witcher and mage cared deeply for each other. It was agreed that the fondness they carried for each other would be reserved for a friendship. Nothing more, nothing less.

They speak of pleasant formalities, for the sake of Ciri, who is now yawning, her eyes drooping as sleep takes her into its embrace. Yennefer stays at the table, keeping his seat free whilst he guides Ciri upstairs, where he settles her to bed, where he tucks her in and makes sure nothing can harm her before quietly closing the door. He returns downstairs and sits beside the mage, his tankard refilled. He sighs.

"You look like shit," Yennefer points out. There is no smug smile like the cat who ate the lark and drank a saucer full of cream. She takes a sip, blissfully ignoring Geralt's scowl in her direction before the latter takes a gulp of his own drink.

"Yen."

"And not to mention this inn is dreadfully boring," she gestures with a hand in finely tailored silks, "there is no music, no dancing and to be quite frank, no singing. Nothing, Just a boring shit show with terrible ale and food that isn't as filling." Yennefer picks at the left overs of a pie with a fork, no intention of eating it. The mage smirks at Geralt's huff in regards to her latter comment. Bingo.

"Tell me Geralt, where is the lark of which he flitters about, chirping of your heroics," hurt flashes across the witcher's eyes. Yennefer awaits an answer, cocking her head like an innocent pup and not like the sly feline she is.

"I said some hurtful things," Yennefer scoffs, but the alpha continues, aware that hurtful is playing down what he growled towards the omega, "I blamed him for things which weren't going as planned, he was an easy target." Geralt's eyes avert to his drink, not needing to see the other alpha's look of dissapointment.

"There is something else that eats at your mind, not just that day you shoved a companion away, who may have been annoying, yes, but, strong and had courage in his own ways." She's right, yet the witcher stares, focused on his drink, watching with rapt attention at the way his drink swirls in the candle light.

"That night, after I saw you, the day before the dragon hunt began, me and Jaskier..." Yennefer doesn't need to hear anymore. The White Wolf of Rivia decided to bed the Little Lark of Oxenfurt, giving the omega hope that something pure would perhaps blossom only to trample on it like it was nothing more than a pest.

She taps the wooden table, gaining his attention, "Triss told me a rumour about the little lark which I suspected to be false, I shall not lie, but it may be true." Geralt looks up, a feeling of hope.

"Your songbird flew South, to the coast where he longed," she began, "he was hurt by something but it seems I finally know why." Yennefer revels in Geralt's wince, 'good.' she thinks. "Triss then spoke of how he was forced to make an emergency stop at a village on his journey, the residents finding him in a local stable, whining and whimpering, they called the village mage."

Geralt snapped his head up, "Is he okay?" Yennefer can sense his guilt, his smokey steel scent turning sour. She nods and continues.

"Your omega gave birth to a healthy girl who is quite adorable and has gained the adoration of those in the village Triss was saying, " She takes another sip of her ale, not bothering to look at Geralt's expression of confusion. "Blue eyes like her mother but, shockingly, white hair, as white as snow," Yennefer smiles, enjoying Geralt's torture, "as white as the child's sire."

Life must enjoy tormenting him, Geralt concluded. He is questioning alot of things, his list growing longer. 

"Jaskier has decided to reside in the village by the coast and taken up the practice of healing and well, he makes a good one so I've been told. Made enough coin to buy the house he thought about in his dreams, right by the sea too. It's close by the village as the residents were scared in case they lost their healer but they worry no more." Yennefer does not stop, she only tells Geralt what she has been told. 

"The village children adore him, always helping him out where ever they can, even going as far to look after the babe which is always delightfully happy yet quiet as a mouse. They sing his songs too with delight in their eyes yet they always ask the adults around them why their healer cries on some nights every month, to which they recieve a shake of the head and a ' _you'll understand soon_ '." Heats. Omegas craved affection from another during their heats and Jaskier was no different. Geralt has no doubt it would be worse now that he has had a babe, his body not understanding why the father to his child is not there to comfort him, pleasure him and fuck the heat out of him. "The village's loved and prized omega healer is a mother with a voice as soft as a song bird on a qaint summer's day has no mate."

Geralt growls, he knows where this conversation is going. The alpha mage laughs lowly. "I wouldn't worry, yet. The omega has kindly turned every alpha, beta and even omega away, saying that he does not want to be of a nuisance to them as he is nothing more than a ' _shit shovelling curse'_ I recall." The witcher looks down, eyes averted, shameful.

"Fuck," he breathes.

Yennefer hums in agreement, getting up in a whisk of black silks, "fuck indeed."

She turns away, stops and turns to look at Geralt, "You should go see him, making ammeds won't kill you, but it will certainly be better for the both of you. Even if it takes a while." She leaves.

Geralt questions life and destiny if its even a thing. Perhaps it is.


	2. To the future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the kudos and the lovely comments, they really mean a lot to me! I hope you all enjoy the next chapter :)

Jaskier rises up and out the wooden tub, a pile of relaxed and steamy omega with damp hair and a fresh scent aided with limited oils provided by an inn near the mountains, where the dragon hunt is soon to take place. He hums softly as he returns all the oils back to their original place on the small wooden dresser, being careful to avoid burn himself where the candles reside. He takes the robe left by the inn's daughters, who helped fill the bath with scalding water for the Witcher, wrapping it loosely around himself. Jakier buries his nose into the collar. Inhales. The omega sighs, a dreamy smile on his features. He smells smoke, ash and the forest's trail. Jaskier's nearly puring, trying to rub the scent on him.

He walks out the small room and into the bedroom where Geralt sits on the edge of the bed. The wither looks up and the scent of happy alpha permits around the room. Plump lips, cheeks tinted pink from the warmth and the ends of Jaskier's hair curling from the damp. His legs are out for Geralt to see and the robe stops short of what's between the omega's long legs. Teasing him. The robe's sleeves are too long and Jakier's shoulders are exposed from where it's slowly slipping. Geralt has to admit that Jaskier makes a perfect picture like this. Its even better that the scent of sugared strawberries is tinted with arousal, enhancing the sweet smell of strawberries with peaches and cream. Geralt tries to suppress his growl of want. A rumble of delight sounds from his chest.

It’s followed by a purr, low but ever so song like. Ever so much like Jaskier. It’s arousing. The alpha looks towards the bard and the air is punched out of him. The omega’s eyes are blown wide, a thin ring of cornflower blue which is drowned by pupils greedily taking in an aroused alpha. An alpha so perfect to mate with, an alpha so perfect to breed him. Jaskier slinks closet, quiet on light feet, ever so dainty. The robe slips further off him, revealing pale expanses of creamy skin no doubt smothered in the inns finest oils and ointments. Jaskier slinks closer and closer until he is seated on Geralt’s lap. Lute calloused fingertips wrap thick white strands of hair around them before Jaskier's button nose finds its way to Geralt's neck, scenting him.

One hand is fixed at the omega's lower back whilst the other softly trails up and down soft, toned thighs. Jaskier pants ever so slightly, ever so sweetly. Geralt's cat like eyes dart between the pink hue on the bard's cheeks to the plump lips which are slightly open to form a perfect O.

"Geralt," his voice is so unusually soft and sweet. The witcher closes the gap between them. Gently pressing rough lips to velvet ones in a gentle manner. The alpha's hands have repositioned themselved, one now running through Jaskier's wavy, chocolate locks, occasionally tightening strands in his grip and tugging. He swallows the whines and gasps as he kisses back with more force, his toungue slithering over the omega's lips to assert his dominance, which Jaskier happily gives. The witcher's other hand has found its way to the soft round arse, taking the flesh and squeezing. Jaskier breaks away from their kiss to moan his name in such a way that should only be considered a sin, lifting his body up slightly as he wraps his arms around Geralt's neck. He grinds his ass back, silently begging more. And so Geralt does.

He takes the bard's arse in his hands and carreses it. The witcher brings his palm down on Jaskier's arse, stroking the reddened flesh whilst savouring the groan Jaskier had released. Said omega grinds against Geralt's hardening cock, slick running down his thighs and on to the witcher's breeches. The witcher flips them over. Jaskier is spread out on the bed below him, the robe coming undone to reveal beauty. Geralt's thumb runs over plump lips, successfully repessing a gasp when the omega kisses his thumb before taking into his mouth and beginning to suck. The little shit. Jaskier smiles.

The alpha lowers his head, mouth taking the omega's perk nipple into his mouth, electing a gasp and a tug on his hair. A tug which is encouraging. A tug that tells him to continue his ministrations. The alpha smirks, grazing his teeth at the nipple, warning his bard in a manner that can be regarded as playful. His fingers follow the dips and curves of Jaskier's body, drawing endless patterns yet trail further south. Jaskier's grip tightens even more, gasping into his hair as his own hands graze at his back, making the witcher rumble in content. His fingers finally begin to rub against the slick folds of Jaskier's cunt. The alpha meets the bard's lips again, greedily drinking those heavenly noises. Jaskier grinds against the fingers, begging Geralt to slip his fingers into the tight hight. The omega's hands are attempting to remove the clothing between him and the alpha's cock. The omega shakes with pleasure, making the task too difficult for him to do alone.

Geralt pulls away, elicting a whine from Jaskier. The alpha quickly sets to work in removing the offending articles of clothing, with each piece removed, a searing kiss between the pair is shared. Soon, the clothes are in crumpled bundles on the room floor. Not that the owners care, the omega straddling the alpha, hands baced against board, strong thighs of the witcher, panting and shaking and whining in pleasure. The omega nuzzles at the long, girthy cock, relishing in Geralt's hitch of breath. He presses a gentle kiss to the tip, licking pre cum which beads like an expensive, shiny pearl. He hums in approval before taking that glorious cock into his mouth. Geralt groans profanities behind him, lifting his hips off the bed slightly to thrust into that wet, hot mouth. Jaskier's eyes roll into the back of his head, eye lids fluttering as his long lashes cast a shadow over his cheeks. The omega slowly begins to take more of the alpha's cock into his mouth, fingertips running over balls. A silent plea to keep the gentle thrusts in his mouth. A silent plea that Geralt eagerly follows.

The witcher spreads the bard's smooth, silky thighs and runs his tongue up and down Jaskier's pussy, pressing open mouthed kisses every now and then to the cunt lips, his tongue licking at tangy flavoured juices. Whilst Geralt grunts and growls, sometimes delivering a smack to the bard's arse followed by a stroke, Jaskier moans so prettily and whines with his mouth full of cock. He presses his pussy back to the witcher's sinfully wicked toungue, letting the wet organ delve into him, making his body sing with devine pleasure. It doesn't take long to have the bard pressing back more eagerly, his thrusts in tune with the toungue soon begin to abandon rhythm and seek that release of pleasure which he is so close to. 

He doesn't have to wait long. One of the alpha's fingers join alongside his tongue in Jaskier's slick pussy, sending him over the edge as he cries the witcher's name around a mouthful of thick, pulsing cock. There are hands in th omega's hair which slowly pull him off of the throbbing cock, groaning at the string of saliva which connects wet cock with a warm and sinful mouth. Their mouths meet again yet it's much more needy, much more intimate. The alpha guides him till his back is on the soft sheets of the bed, the omega's legs spreading wide as delicate fingers wrap around the girthy cock, guiding it to his slick, throbbing cunt. Jaskier wants to be filled with Geralt. He wants to feel him for days as he will remember this night for as long as he lives.

The first smooth slide into Jaskier's cunt as him throwing his head back, mouth open in a silent scream. The omega's mind is blank as the alpha's long thick cock stretches him wide and makes his pussy walls convulse, feeling the pulsating throb of Geralt's cock as he slides deeper and deeper. Jaskier's hands find purchase on the witcher's back, nails digging into the skin as his legs wrap around the witcher's waist, drawing him in deeper. The silence is broken by the bard's loud moan of approval as Geralt groans in pleasure, begining to start a rhythm with short, gentle thrusts.

Jaskier tugs Geralt closer, his sinful mouth alligned with Geralt's ears, "faster," he whispers. Geralt complies with a smirk, roughly kissing the bard and beginning to thrust faster and ever so deeper into the omega. Their tongues meet, Jaskier letting himself be dominated. The omega loses himself at the sight of the witcher's long cock disappearing into his pussy and reemerging covered in slick and cum. The omega whines beautifully at the sight of the alpha's huge knot beginning to swell.

"Please. Knot me. Please."

Who is Geralt to deny the bard? With one final thrust, he sinks deep into the omega's pussy, knot locking himself in the bard, spreading the silk walls wider which leaves Jaskier moaning at the heavenly stretch. Before Geralt can crush the omega, he flips them over, letting the bard rest atop of him, his head to his chest, listening to the slow beatin of his heart. The witcher is tired out and is falling asleep, cushioned by the sweetned scent of sated, happy omega, who slowly milks his cock for its cum.

Geralt smiles, happy, "Yen," he breathes, falling asleep.

He misses the way Jaskier freezes up. He misses the way Jaskier's heart cracks. He misses the way Jaskier sobs silently before succumbing to a broken sleep. But Jaskier sobs ever so beautifully.

The omega walks after Geralt's rage at the top of the mountain, he cannot compeat with someone so beautiful and powerful. He wishes he was like her. He sobs as he decends the mountain. Roach winnies in distress when seeing Jaskier, unnerved by the heartbroken scent, she tries to nuzzle him, bringing forth a wet laugh. He takes his bag and little belongings from Roach, the horse becomes more saddened, making sorrowful noises as a faithful companion begins to depart, she quite liked his songs, bobbing her head along whenever he sang. Jaskier shakily gives her a sugar cube, his sobbing becoming more intense. Roach shakes her head, trying to pull at her tether. She rejects the peace offering. She does not want the treat. She wants the song bird to stay. 

Jaskier presses his head to Roach's muzzle, his tear drops staining her beautiful bay coat.

"Take good care of them," Jaskier turns away, eyes red from crying as he makes his journey to put distance between who probably wanted him around no longer. He sobs harder as he hears Roach neighing in distress, calling him to come back. He can also hear the tugging as she tries to break free from the tether. Its better that she is secured, he thinks, it would be harder for him to leave.

Roach lowers her head, whinnying in such a meloncholy manner, it fits with the grey tones of the sky.

The songbird flies with a broken heart and clipped wings.

It's months later that thoughts of the witcher plague him again when he stumbles into a stable in the middle of the night, stomach aching as he cries out in pain. Villagers call the mage. The elderly woman comes and helps him. She helps Jaskier birth the baby girl he carried for so long and sang to on lonely nights. The babe is small and does not cry but whines instead, seeking warmth from her tired but joyful mother. She quiets when she finally begins to drink from a nipple. From the edge of the stable doors, Triss witnesses the birth of Aria. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for being patient, I wasn't happy at first with how this chapter turned out but I feel more happier with how this has turned out. The lovely comments kept me motivated alongside having Kali Uchis on repeat.  
> I hope you enjoyed :)


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